


Little Girl Red

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-20
Updated: 2007-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-27 14:39:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10811046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Luna wants to change history.





	Little Girl Red

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

_This sort of thing happens all the time._  
  
*  
  
Her stomach felt as though it had been turned inside out, but she'd felt more unpleasant things before and so she did not let it worry her. She tucked the Time Turner carefully back in her robes, gasping when she found the metal cold enough to bite, as though it knew it had been forced to have a part in its own unmaking and sought revenge.  
  
Luna cautiously looked around the room, softly lit by a single, golden fairy flittering vainly about in front of an ornate mirror hung in its cage. As her eyes adjusted, she found she could make out the ragged old stuffed Erumpent in the corner and his friend the Crumple-Horned Snorkack. Rediscovering lost memories, she surveyed her brilliant collection of models and toys - presents from her father - and then nearly broke down when she saw the large, ornate dream catcher, her last gift from her mother. It had come all the way from America and was meant to have kept the nightmares away.   
  
A soft laugh coming from the still figure on the bed overfilled the room before ending as abruptly as it had begun. It made Luna want to cower, to hide.   
  
It wasn't right. Everything she'd seen, everything they'd made her do, and she was afraid of a sleeping schoolgirl?  
  
But this was new; Luna had never killed anyone before. It was okay, she reasoned. It wasn't suicide because her experiences had changed her, and she couldn't possibly be guilty of murder if she would never have existed.  
  
It was perfectly simple, and suddenly she was the one who was laughing, her own laughter rich with the dark red tones of her more full-bodied experiences. The sound was like music, and so she danced her way to the bedside.  
  
She looked down and saw a mass of lovely blond hair. Her hand automatically went to the coarse stubble, the bristly regrowth at back of her own neck, just above her tattoo. Her hair had been cut, of course. Kept shaved everywhere, from the first day she'd been sent to the camp: her head, her cunt...  
  
Curious, and more than half-prompted by a sudden fear that the still figure would stir and there would be familiar-yet-not eyes staring at her, she gently pulled aside the covers - which had been mostly kicked off anyway - and lifted the skirt of the girl's voluminous nightgown right up over her head.   
  
The girl mumbled under her breath, but the room was warm and she did not wake. Her body lay exposed now: sweet and soft, fresh and pure. Her skin was healthy, pale but unmarked, entirely unscarred. Her small breasts peeked out from the folded fabric of her nightgown, nipples pink and sweet-looking, begging to be tugged at, nibbled, kissed. Her stomach was perfectly flat, not toned, but naturally slender, concave. Lower still - Luna sucked in a breath - natural blonde curls demurely covered her cleft.   
  
Luna's mouth began to water at the sight, all that beautiful innocence laid out open and untasted. Surely, this girl did not deserve to die a virgin?   
  
_Did_ she wish she had died a virgin, all things considered?  
  
It would have been better, yes, but not if...   
  
The first time could have been so sweet. This girl, this girl lying on the bed deserved that sweetness and not the nightmares or the Pit, not the endless guilt. Oh, the guilt had been the worst - the inescapable knowledge that it had been her own mistake, her own belief, however well intentioned, in the innate goodness of men that had betrayed them all.  
  
Decision made, she darted in and tentatively licked one pink nipple, watching in delight as the skin reacted to the touch, halfway hardening almost immediately. She did it again, this time a little harder, allowing herself to taste clean skin.  
  
The girl shifted a little, and Luna froze. But then she settled, and nothing could have stopped Luna from moving to the other nipple, from making it change it as well. Her heart still beat rapidly, her quick and creative brain weaving a story the child would believe against the inevitable awakening.  
  
As if roused by the touch of thought, one delicate hand reached up slow and sleepy and confused, as though to pull the nightgown from her face. It brushed against Luna's breast, ugly and marred from tooth and claw beneath her coarse grey robes.   
  
The hand stilled instantly and a small voice called out waveringly, "Who's there?"  
  
"Don't look. Don't look at me, or I will have to go," Luna whispered, low and confiding, mysterious.  
  
"Who are you?" She sounded frightened, but not nearly as much as she should have been. The girl did not move to run or fight. She didn't _know._ The monsters in her stories were so much better than men.   
  
"I am the Dream Lady," Luna whispered. Her tongue flicked out and tasted the lie upon her lips and she knew then that she could hate herself no more than she already did.  
  
The girl giggled, sounding foolish. "She only comes for children!"  
  
Luna's throat went tight. "You still are a child. Now lie still and let me love you."  
  
"I am afraid I'm going to have to ask for proof, since you won't let me see you." Her voice was stern but still quavering with the underpinnings of fear.  
  
"Very well, little one. I know you as my other self. I know you dream about Ginny and Romilda. I know that in your sleep you see Ginny punishing Romilda for trying to steal Harry. I know that she yanks down Vane's red knickers - and yes, I know you were peeking under her skirt that day - and spanks her pretty little arse. And I know you wake up wet from the sight of it."   
  
By the time she was finished, she nearly believed she was the Dream Lady and not herself, not at all. But she remembered those dreams as though they were her own, which of course they were, as impossible as it seemed. She remembered the first time she'd fumbled around her own slick skin, desperate for something, until she'd found that spot, her clit, and had touched it until -  
  
"You really have come for me!"   
  
The girl's voice broke her out of her old dreams and they dissolved.  
  
"Yes." She stroked the girl's stomach.   
  
The result was a giggle that burned everything to red.   
  
Silently, without breath, without a rustle or whisper of fabric moving, Luna slipped over to the nightstand and found the girl's (her) wand. Her touch upon the wood did something strange, and it vibrated, hummed, as though the magic flowing through it were washing back over and over upon itself.   
  
"Those are bad dreams, Luna. Do you understand? Dirty dreams. I'm here to take them away from you."  
  
"But I like them," the little girl said, lost.  
  
"I'll give you something better," Luna said, and she thought of death and the sweetness of release, the gift of never having been, almost.  
  
She returned and took one slim ankle in her hand, lifting it up easily and moving in so she could admire the length and curve of a slender leg in the moonlight. She brought the tip of the wand, still moving in her hand like a living thing, and gently touched it to skin.  
  
The wand jumped, agitated, and the soft, discordant humming grew slightly louder: a song, then, to sing the innocent to death.   
  
Slowly, she dragged it down the inside of the girl's leg, and the girl gasped and then moaned when it reached her thighs. Luna slid the narrowness of it along her slit, back and forth, speeding up when the wood became slick and the girl's muffled moans became chants clearly asking for more.  
  
Luna looked up, and saw that against her wishes, the girl had uncovered her face and was watching her intently. They were her own eyes looking at her; only, they weren't at all like hers. The lust in that gaze was too honest.  
  
"You look like me," the girl said. "Almost. Except for what's missing. You're not the Dream Lady, are you?" She did not wait for an answer. "That's fine, that you're not. Only, please, don't stop what you're doing. Please."   
  
Luna could ignore the plea. She pulled the wand away, breaking all contact with her skin for the briefest of moments. _"Lumos."_  
  
The wood blackened, and the glowing light came up red. But that did not matter, because she could see more clearly now, could see the wetness of the girl's cunt. She was unable to tear her eyes away from the shining, silken curls.   
  
She gently pushed the girl's thighs open wider and sent her still-delicate fingers searching, spreading, finding her clit and circling it. Luna licked her lips, wanting to dive in and taste, but ducked her head, suddenly shy, knowing absolutely that she wasn't worthy of the girl panting beneath her.  
  
"Do it," the child breathed.  
  
"Yes," Luna responded to the command, hated and welcomed conditioning overcoming her reluctance. Her lips pressed a reverent kiss to the girl's cunt, into wet softness and a musk that made her go tight and hot inside. She let her tongue snake out, pointed, and licked once.  
  
The girl beneath her jumped at the touch. Luna had never wanted anything so badly as she wanted to please her and kill her and please her. She licked, but her eagerness and her shaking hampered her skill, and so to make up for it, she brought her (the girl's) trembling wand back up, and pressed the blunt end of it against her and then pushed it in.   
  
Fucked her, the virgin, and she never felt any resistance or heard any gasp of pain and in that light all she saw was wet and she had no idea if she'd broken the girl or not. She fucked her hard, on the girl's (her) own wand and fucked her with her tongue and the girl was _screaming_ now - into a pillow, so that no one would come.  
  
_noonewouldcomenoonewouldheartheywerealldeadalldead_  
  
And she heard a sound from that sweet girl's lips that was a cry and a moan all at once and recognized that sound, knew it for what it was, and pushed harder on the wand, worked faster with her tongue until the girl's back arched, and Luna could already feel the strength of a tight, pulsing grip on the wood as she pulled it free.  
  
Quickly, her fingers plunged into the girl's body in place of the wand, sliding in and out, her thumb rubbing against the girl's clit, while she pointed the wand at her chest.   
  
Now, while the pleasure was at its highest, the girl would never need to come down, never come back, not ever, nevernevernevernever...  
  
Luna had never been able to cast the Killing Curse. She had tried. It hadn't worked then, and it wouldn't work now.  
  
Fortunately, there were other ways.  
  
She aimed carefully. _"Sectumsempra!"_  
  
A gash opened itself in the girl's throat, shining blood everywhere, clear in the red light, soaking the girl's nightgown even as her body still convulsed around Luna's fingers.   
  
"Yes," she breathed, while her younger self jerked violently, and then lay still, the expression forever frozen on her face one of awe. Luna pulled her fingers from the still warm flesh, marveling at the logical fact that her cunt was still warm and wet even though the girl was dead. Death should feel cold, not lovely like this.  
  
Luna dropped her hand, slick from blood and juice, immediately to her own shaved, used cunt and began rubbing desperately, hoping to find the same ecstasy in oblivion she'd seen in the girl's eyes.  
  
She never got that close.  
  
*  
  
_Paradox is a lie. Aberrations form self-contained eddies outside the normal flow of time._ _  
  
_One girl vanished, though she was too mad to notice it herself._  
  
_The wound closed. A heart (that never stopped) beat again._  
  
_Luna gasped and sat upright, running fingers through long hair, thinking to have woken up from a dream, both beautiful and terrible._  
  
_Alive and unharmed._  
  
_She glanced briefly at her dream catcher before returning to sleep._  
  
_Moments isolated become complete, if limited, universes: the omega becomes the alpha._  
  
_This sort of thing happens all the time.__  
  
*  
  
Her stomach felt as though it had been turned inside out, but she'd felt more unpleasant things before and so she did not let it worry her. She tucked the Time Turner carefully back in her robes, gasping when she found the metal cold enough to bite, as though it knew it had been forced to have a part in its own unmaking and sought revenge...  
  
*   
  
~ End


End file.
